


There's No Need to Play Pretend

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Prompt Fill, Short & Sweet, bc this Is johnny were talking abt here, fire puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: mjrey asked: "the way i feel when i'm with you..." and "why haven't you kissed me yet?" with peter and johnny-Not quite a rooftop perch, but still high up enough that the feeling of falling echoes as they dive in headfirst.





	There's No Need to Play Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> this was a small prompt fill i did for my best friend based off a sappy prompts list but ended up adoring so much tht i Had to repost over here
> 
> title from dnce's toothbrush (kait i cannot stress how much thts Just For You)

It's dusk. Of course it is- it always seems to be dusk now. A haze in his eyes that's perpetually dusty orange, a lens flare always there on the edge of his vision, a streak of burning chemicals and-

He drops deftly to the rusted fire escape, suited feet clanging against cold metal that seems to pucker under his weight which has been absent for far too long.

His elbows, forever sticking out like thumbtacks from cork, settle against the railing in tight script, propping up a well-worn face still pocked in sweat and only half-disclosed.

The breath he releases is one he's been holding for a while, somewhere deep in his chest far beyond bronchioles and lungs, but it's still a calling no matter where it came from, still a signal that's answered by a clucking tongue from high above.

"Long day, World Wide Web?"

"That's a shitty one even for you, Firefox."

"Yeah- I could try once more with feeling?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

The fire escape groans under the newcoming weight, Peter hums under the slightest new brush that isn't even skin to skin. A give and a take, equally measured and distributed.

"You all right?"

Scrubbing at his cheek with ingrained hands, Peter pushes his mask the rest of the way off his face, revealing raw skin tracked in salt, a byproduct of pain rather than hurt.

He huffs a laugh, a vacuum that catches and reverbs a tiredness marrow-deep. "Are we ever, Johnny?" It's not a good joke, but they both still react as if it were, dipping and ducking and tangling, chins and heads and breath.

"Sometimes," Johnny replies, as sage as he can get. "Sometimes I am."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," comes his soft answer as his head swings to face him, mouth an open flame that Peter wants to burn his fingertips on.

It's still dusk, but Peter feels like he's in the dark. To guide himself, he patterns out the ripple between Johnny's peach-toned brows, the beauty mark at the corner of his right eye, the dimple by his chin forever popped. He thinks he could trace it from memory, line it all up in the picture frame and hang it on his wall, but it still wouldn't be enough.

"What?" Johnny asks, head tilting toward the pavement below. He seems to make a decision then, Lipsmackers lips brushing against one another until they shift to that curtain of cockiness and ask, "Haven't I ever told you about the way I feel when I'm with you?"

Peter presses his tongue against his left-side K-9, something like disbelief shaking his head. "No need to make my day any worse."

A splinter of hair hits Johnny's forehead as he shakes his own head, pushing air through his teeth. "You're something, Parker."

"Ooh," Peter hisses, hand pressing over his heart in a theatrical recoil he picked up from the body next to him. "'Parker'? You hurt me, Storm, you really do."

With a practiced movement that's as cool as someone who lets people call him _the Human Torch_ , Johnny swings himself up onto the railing, looking not unlike the gymnasts he'd made Peter come over and watch with him in the summer - albeit with a little more old Hollywood charm.

"I'm trying to bear my heart here, you gonna let me or what?" he asks through teeth clenching the soft skin inside his cheek.

"Be my guest- tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

Johnny tucks his tongue over his bottom lip and lets his cheek lift in enjoyment. "You," he starts, stops, begins again, "You make me feel all right- when you aren't smarting off, mostly, but I guess that has its charms, too."

"You would be into that." Peter laughs, as real as he's got, and moves to stand with his abdomen against jean-clad knees.

"You would want to know what I'm into," Johnny retorts, giving his gaze instead to the buildings up and down the way.

Peter presses forward, paves his own path and plants his own road signs as he worms in close. "So what, all these years and it's just all right? Not exactly that big of a leap from- what would you say we had when we met, neutrality or simple distaste?"

"You didn't let me finish, man."

"Then by all means, _dude._ "

"Would it be too cliche to say you light my fire?"

Peter almost pushes him over the side of the railing. In fact, he's got his hand on his chest with light pressure from his thumb and forefinger before he's even got his wits back. Though his hand stays, his intentions flee, but Johnny gets the message.

"Yeah, I figured. But you said it yourself, Pete- all these years. It's not exactly easy to sum all that up."

"I don't need a summary. Behind the scenes, maybe."

Johnny rests his hand overtop of Peter's, squeezes at his fingers with his own. "I know I tell you that you're an idiot most days, but secretly - and you didn't hear this from me - I think you're one of the smartest people I know. Don't you want to use that big brain of yours?"

Peter tips his head back and forth, really giving him a show. "Nah," he finally settles upon. "You gotta say it."

Johnny crooks his head, leaning in but not down, so his words brush at Peter's sticky skin somewhere close to his widow's peak. "I don't know why I'm into you," he murmurs into teasing.

"Oh, so _this_ is what you're into?" Peter jokes back, mouth rising as the sun creeps lower.

It's still dusk, but here he feels it in his bones, knows it's real rather than something engineered by the synapses that fire for- well, fire.

Johnny merely hums in response, pushing against Peter's hand, a heartbeat and tight skin and a thin t-shirt that Peter will most certainly be wearing come tomorrow morning.

"Then why haven't you kissed me yet?"

Johnny grins, not a Manhattan but a Brooklyn, a Queens, realer than real. It's a little off the mark, gingerbread with a sloppy icing mouth. Teeth that probably grind in their sleep instead of replenishing bleached whiteness. It's Peter's, all Peter's, and he's standing at baggage claim with jet lag and fierce curiosity for what comes next on the carousel.

It's dusk, always dusk, but the sun does eventually set, the screen goes black, and when Peter opens his eyes he is engulfed in sweet, strawberry blond and hands that he is going to keep close forever.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @foxmulldr and prompts are Always open!!


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